


upperhand, underhand

by ShadyStrategist (AlleyCatSunflower)



Category: Shin Sangokumusou | Dynasty Warriors
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Study, Child Marriage, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Relationship Study, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyCatSunflower/pseuds/ShadyStrategist
Summary: Out of all Chunhua's wifely wiles, violence was the first thing that truly caught Zhongda's attention, and only then because it saved his reputation. But even the strength required to end a life and the cunning to make it look like an accident could not so much as weaken the wall between them. Once, she was dismissed; now, she is feared. Either way, Chunhua has always been excluded from Zhongda's private world, into which he invariably retreats if she grows too inquisitive.It's a pity that Zhongda is so afraid of intimacy, because Chunhua is a match for him in more ways than he cares to think. She has only ever been allowed a few methods of proving it, but some of them are enjoyable enough that—for a moment at a time—she can forget how little she means to him. No spoilers. (Re: the archive warning, the "Underage" tag refers to a flashback at the beginning of the story and is not the main focus of the work. However, the E rating does also specifically coincide with her being underage, so I'm tagging it as such just to be safe.)
Relationships: Sima Yi | Sima Zhongda/Zhang Chunhua
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	upperhand, underhand

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I have only ever played Dynasty Warriors 9, which I quickly discovered isn't the best at establishing characterization. But it _was_ enough for the Sima clan to become some of my favorite characters, and for me to appreciate Sima Yi and Zhang Chunhua's dynamic. I can only hope this isn't OOC by other games' ~~much better~~ standards.

Sometimes, Chunhua wishes she were born several years earlier.

They married her to Zhongda when she was twelve, and he almost twice that. And when night fell and the time came to become one in more than just the legal sense, he didn't quite know what to do with her. Chunhua suspected his reluctance was not from _his_ lack of experience, but rather because of hers.

From the moment they met, everything Zhongda said and did was carefully measured. Their lovemaking, if one could call it that, was no different. There was something in his sly dark eyes, each time he looked at her—a sharp kind of awareness, piercing through the dreams a wife is expected to weave. His senses were keen, even when fully saturated. Enough to notice that, even made up like a woman, Chunhua's body was still that of a child. Desirable to most, but evidently not to Zhongda: he kept his eyes closed whenever he could.

A long and lingering series of touches. A murmured question she has by now forgotten, and her affirmative in a single breath. His fingers. Slow ellipses. A strange and ticklish sensitivity, unknown to her. Hips twitching, beyond her conscious control. A pause, and then pain. A gasp from Chunhua, an exhalation from Zhongda, and one more hesitation before he started moving. The rhythm was foreign to her, yet it still felt natural, like a dance she had somehow forgotten. The sensation was strange, and different from the one he elicited before, but not entirely unpleasant despite the persistent ache.

The Tao mandated that a man satisfy his wife, or else Zhongda likely wouldn't have put in the effort. But he did, and that was all that mattered. It took some time, more than Chunhua anticipated, but eventually an end like a beginning thrilled through her, leaving her breathless and trembling and feeling almost sick from strain and overfullness.

They did not speak.

Chunhua woke before Zhongda the next morning, and became transfixed by his appearance. Vulnerability suited him better than she expected; his smooth chest rose and fell in the deep breaths of slumber, his long dark hair loose and falling into his relaxed face. All this belonged to her now. If he was always as gentle as he had been last night, and seemed this morning, then perhaps she could relinquish herself to him, too.

But the moment Zhongda opened his eyes, Chunhua could see in them a question, forever branded in her memory. What was a child doing in his bed? Not a woman, much less his wife, but a _girl_. And, as dawning understanding—along with something bitter like embarrassment or disgust—replaced Zhongda's confusion, Chunhua's eyes stung with tears she did not let fall, and she turned away. Yesterday, she had been the hope and promise of her family. Overnight, she had become nothing.

Chunhua would have been content to let their relationship develop on its own, growing gradually closer until they could truly call one another partners, but Zhongda seemed intent on preventing any such thing from happening. Even as patient as Chunhua could be, she realized soon enough that he would never move further than that initial, dismissive estimation of her identity. He was not an affectionate man, and the only time he ever expressed any kind of admiration was when he praised her resourcefulness.

That resourcefulness was all Chunhua had. Quickly, she learned exactly how to please Zhongda, and how to derive pleasure from teasing him. She learned how to leave him wanting more of her in every way—just enough that he would always came back to her, no matter how far he strayed in the meantime. Occasionally, she dared to string him along, just to test how far he would follow before he abandoned the pursuit.

Out of all Chunhua's wifely wiles, violence was the first thing that truly caught Zhongda's attention, and only then because it saved his reputation. But even the strength required to end a life and the cunning to make it look like an accident could not so much as weaken the wall between them. Once, she was dismissed; now, she is feared. Either way, Chunhua has always been excluded from Zhongda's private world, into which he invariably retreats if she grows too inquisitive.

More than anything else, Chunhua longs to be treated as an equal, to share in her husband's mentally rich life. After all, she is already a worthier partner for Zhongda than he will ever know: in memorizing his weaknesses, she has never once shown hers.

It seems, even having expanded their family twice, that the bedroom remains their only middle ground. Zhongda may not be adventurous, but Chunhua has never sought adventure. And her husband is _very_ good at what he does—at least when he chooses to do it. He is often as reluctant to let her take the reins as he is to take them himself, though of course that does not stop her from seizing them anyway.

There's a word for her, as he says sometimes, too breathless to be cross. _Insatiable_.

Zhongda's passions are strong, but subdued… and silent. He takes his pleasure quietly, and prefers Chunhua to do the same. Even at the height of ecstasy, he has never so much as said her name, but witnessing such a cerebral man succumb to carnal desire is a good enough indication of her control over him.

It used to be that Chunhua didn't recognize the end until she noticed that Zhongda had forgotten to breathe, or that his lips had stopped moving in the middle of a kiss. Now, she has learned to listen for every moan he swallows—the involuntary vocalizations he smothers—and to feel for every shift inside her. Chunhua has come to think of their encounters as mock battles, or perhaps interrogations, dragging each sound out of Zhongda by force. No enemy officer had the pleasure of breaking the great Sima Yi before his wife.

But there _are_ moments of softness, albeit few and far between. Often, they are related to their approximations of intimacy. The times when Zhongda bites his lip rather than say he wants Chunhua. Their shared afterglow, lying together flushed and rosy and damp from exertion. All the rare smiles they've shared through the years.

Yes… Zhongda's smile. Of all the traits Chunhua admires, she loves his smile the most, and finds his laugh nothing short of beautiful. It's a pity Chunhua so rarely hears it, except for when the world dances to his music. The fruition of his schemes satisfies him better than she ever could.

Now, his grandest plan is just about to begin, but this time, Chunhua refuses to sit on the sidelines and watch. Though Zhongda himself has never seen her worth, it is fortunate that one of his many fellow strategists _does_ , because despite Zhongda's clear reluctance, his colleague's opinion is enough to convince him. Now, she is no longer a good wife and wise mother alone, but an officer in the army Cao Wei has been building for some time.

And she can tell that, for all his initial reluctance, Zhongda is relieved by the change. He can deliver orders, direct, impersonal, as though she's just another soldier. But she does not lower her head except to bow, and he never seems to fully meet her eyes. After all, Zhongda has always lost his composure much more frequently when Chunhua is present. She is the only one who can break him, and takes some pride in that.

She will ensure that it stays that way, even through this war.

Despite Zhongda's best efforts, they are situated in the same tent. Chunhua used her womanhood to her advantage, claiming that she was afraid some scoundrels might try to take advantage of her if she had her own quarters. Even Zhongda isn't so heartless that he remained unmoved, though Chunhua suspects his acquiescence was to avoid tainting the Sima name with scandal after she so deftly helped him avoid it.

This first evening they spend in one another's company, Chunhua is pleasantly surprised that Zhongda allows her to touch him while he works, and resolves to make the most of it. "My lord," she murmurs, running her fingers through his hair. "I wonder… do you realize how easy it would be for me to kill you?"

Zhongda turns around, alarm flashing through his eyes in the moment before he suppresses it. Their enemies would be envious of that look, but Chunhua has it all to herself. "What?"

"Naturally, I would never dream of doing such a thing," says Chunhua, smiling. Shocking Zhongda is always such a delight. "I only meant that I've never seen you lower your guard this much around anyone else. Even if you don't intend to."

Zhongda relaxes, but only slightly, and clears his throat. "You are my wife, Chunhua. Of course you're the only one to have seen me at my most vulnerable. That is as it should be." He dips his brush in ink again, but keeps half an eye on her. "Now, let's have no more of this nonsense. Leave me to my work, and go to bed."

"As you wish, my lord," says Chunhua. "Shall I wait for you?"

"No." The same answer he has given for some time, now.

Chunhua smiles. "Understood."

Brushing aside the half-translucent curtain, she passes into the next room of their simple tent, and undresses. Zhongda does not turn his head and look at her, but after she is in her nightgown, she peeks out to find that his back is rigid, his neck stiff. Whether from the stress of his work or from resisting temptation, Chunhua knows the cure. All that remains is to persuade Zhongda to indulge in it as well, which never takes as much effort as it used to.

Taking her time, Chunhua washes her face and cleans her teeth, then seats herself on their bed. Running a comb idly through her hair, her thoughts stray far from the present, to an impossible land in which they are of an age. Perhaps, in that world, their marriage might be a meeting of minds and hearts rather than fortunes.

Stirred out of her thoughts, Chunhua looks up as Zhongda enters, setting down her comb. He looks surprised in the instant before he clears his expression, resuming his usual vague suspicion. "I told you not to wait."

"Yes, you did," says Chunhua, smiling. "But I waited anyway."

"You can't possibly expect me to believe you miss the pleasure of my company," scoffs Zhongda, undressing in his usual quick and surprisingly haphazard way. Chunhua feels no shame in watching, admiring the glow of lantern-light on his pale skin, the sheen of gold on his glossy black hair. How naïve he is, even now, to suppose that her every motive is ulterior. "Or do you want another son?"

"Can a woman not long for her husband?"

Removing his loincloth, Zhongda pauses to look at Chunhua. Seeing where her eyes are directed, a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The gesture is, as she has learned from the times she has asked about it, unconscious. "She can," says Zhongda, extinguishing the lantern and pulling on his sleepwear, pretending that those layers will not come off again within a few moments. "But you are no ordinary woman."

As Zhongda slides into bed beside her, silk on silk, Chunhua laughs softly. "I shall take that as a compliment, my lord." She reaches over to caress Zhongda's face, glad that he lets her do so. It always makes him feel better to put up a show of resistance, but this is not the coldness that comes with his true disinterest. " _You_ are no ordinary man."

Zhongda lets out a faint chuckle, hoarse, half a hum. "I know."

"Then we are well matched," says Chunhua, almost joking, because she knows that Zhongda will never believe it in his heart. With so many years separating them, and as afraid as he is of vulnerability, they can never meet on a level field in this life. This is as close as they can ever come.

Almost. They soon move closer, Zhongda the one to lean in the last few inches. It is generous of him, perhaps repayment for his earlier dismissiveness—as near to an apology as he has ever ventured. Chunhua closes her eyes and twines her arms about his neck, the usual fleeting wish darting across her mind. If only she could hold his heart so easily.

Observant and calculating as he is, Zhongda has learned what pleases Chunhua too. He knows which of her breasts is more sensitive, exactly how much pain leads to her pleasure. He knows just where to kiss her, his breath hot against her neck. He knows how to stroke her, his thumb pressing into her lower belly, his fingers skimming up and down with one layer still between them until he feels the thin fabric of her nightgown dampening.

All the while, Chunhua can tell that their desire, at least, is mutual. Zhongda's body responds too readily for his thoughts to be far elsewhere. Regardless of all he says, the arbitrary distance he imposes between them, she can feel his pressure against her, see the effect she has on him when he kneels over her to remove his pajamas as quickly as he donned them. It is not an unfamiliar sight, but Chunhua has never tired of it.

Zhongda moves back in, hooking his arms around Chunhua's thighs to bend her almost in half, her nightgown falling around her waist to leave her exposed. But Zhongda has never been as visual as many other men, and pays only enough attention to ensure that they are aligned before moving in.

Chunhua gives an involuntary shudder, any ache from her muscles overridden as soon as she feels him nudge her deep inside, sending the beginnings of bliss pulsing out to her fingertips. Whether Zhongda has taken the position that makes her most sensitive because he's feeling charitable, or because he means to prevent her from asking any more of him, Chunhua is not about to complain.

Her observations scatter at the movement of their hips: her nails caressing his spine, eliciting a shiver that passes from his body into hers. Her hold tightening unconsciously before it slackens altogether. A responding grunt; a series of quick shallow thrusts, out of sync with their labored breathing. His name on her parted lips, a hitching sigh amid the rustle of bedclothes.

His hand against her mouth to keep her quiet, their bodies rocking together in the final moments before the end. Her own sharp gasp and muffled cry, something between a high moan and a laugh of delight. Clutching at the sheets, writhing from ecstasy until his weight settles heavily atop her. A hissing exhalation that might have been an admonition, but the way his lips brush her skin is something close to tender, and Chunhua hears only her name.

And then they are still for a time, breathing into one another.

It is only after a pause, warm and dizzy, that Zhongda seems to come back to himself. He pulls out and rolls over and even has the courtesy to retrieve a piece of cloth for Chunhua, so that her nightgown is not soiled. She accepts it with a smile he does not return in full, but that corner of his mouth is more honest than the rest of his face. Chunhua knows it from the way he lies down close beside her, the way he lets her stroke his hair and relaxes into her touch despite himself.

Yes, sometimes Chunhua wishes she were born several years earlier, that she might share her husband's life more completely. But then she finds herself basking in a moment like this, and smiles at her own good fortune. In _this_ world, had Zhongda known her for his equal, he might never have consented to marry her in the first place.


End file.
